And We Find Ourselves Here
by hetalialovesyou
Summary: After not seeing one another for so many years, Arthur decides to pay Alfred a visit.
1. The Train Ride

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. If I did, I would own the world. /BWAHAHA.

First story, please review!

* * *

Arthur Kirkland _never_ thought he would find himself here. The rails thudding loudly against the bottom of the train were so rhythmic he had lost track of the time. His thin fingers clenched onto the handle of the warm teacup on his lap, careful not to spill. God knows that would be such a waste of perfectly fine tea. He was traveling north for what seemed liked days now and even though that seemed like enough time to prepare he still had _no_ bloody clue what he was going to say when he finally hit his destination.

It had been years since he had set foot on this godforsaken land. And like _hell_ did he want to pack his things and return home. Just another hundred miles or so and it would be over. Or actually everything would just begin.

Arthur—who had been looking outside his window at the passing scenery in a daze—was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a muffled 'Amazing Grace' coming from his pants pocket. He swallowed thickly when he realized who it was.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice more strained than he wished it would be.

"Did you not get enough sleep or somethin'? You sound friggin' _exhausted_! Was there something wrong with the pillows? Or was it the bed? Was the ride to bumpy?! I can fire whoever's—"

Arthur grimaced and pulled the phone away from his ear, rubbing his temple in frustration.

"Alfred, will you shut your bloody yap?" the man seethed through the receiver. "I just have a migraine,"—_or at least now I do_, Arthur thought to himself bitterly—"what in God's name do you want?"

Alfred Jones ran his fingers through his golden locks as he thought of the right words to say. He hesitated for a second. Just for a second. "Jus' wanted to see how far away you are," he finally said.

On the other end Arthur rolled his eyes and muttered something about the Queen and having patience. _Whatever_, Alfred thought to himself as he pulled out a hamburger from under his pillow. He took a bite.

"I should be there soon. Just don't act like a bleeding fool when I get there, okay? Now let me sleep."

_Beep_.

Arthur shut his phone and leaned against the window. It was pitch black and the stars that were visible were shooting by so fast he barely had time to acknowledge them. Tearing his eyes away from the window he hunched over, his head in his hands.

Sleep was definitely out of the question.

Alfred's bright blue eyes scanned his cell phone's screen which read:

-- **Arthur (:** Call ended

—————

00:01:02

"Well damn, I bet those stupid Brits aren't rude like that to their fucking imaginary friends. _Jesus_," the fair haired man muttered angrily to himself as he slumped against the wall. People don't just hang up on heroes. It wasn't right. He was Alfred _fucking_ Jones—America dammit!

Snorting angrily, Alfred's eyes wandered over to his window.

It was still dark. In the morning he would Arthur after, what? Years? Decades? It had been too long, that was all Alfred knew.

And he had never been so nervous in his life.

The next morning Arthur found himself sprawled—rather uncomfortably—beside the window. He checked his wristwatch.

9:50.

_Bloody hell_.

Just a few more miles now. Arthur could feel his throat tighten. He wasn't ready for this. He didn't know what he was going to say. He didn't know what he would find when he finally arrived. More importantly, he didn't know what he would feel. Above all things, he hoped that his stupid emotions would get the better of him. He had to be refined in times like these. But after being apart for so long he didn't think that would be possible.

An image of Alfred's face came into view crystal clear in his thoughts. Arthur's face burned.

It _definitely_ wasn't going to be possible.


	2. Overkill

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly.

* * *

"You're late."

"_And_?"

Alfred Jones scrunched his nose up in irritation. There was no need to be so _fucking_ rude.

The shorter male huffed as he secured his heavy luggage under his arm. "Are you going to help me or are you just going to stand there like a bloody twat?" Alfred smiled.

"You're as bitter as ever. Jus' like your tea," he said as he snatched Arthur's bags from him, loading them onto the cab with such ease. Arthur flushed. He had forgotten how strong Alfred was.

With an over exaggerated sigh Arthur found himself on Alfred's front porch—the _last_ place he wished to be.

Upon opening the door a flood of different aromas poured out, filling Arthur's lungs; dust, hamburgers, smoke, alcohol, rust and hot spices. That was Alfred for you. He tried to fight off a smile for now as he walked inside.

"I would think that you'd at least have the decency to clean up before I arrived," Arthur scowled, kicking over a worn out suit lying on the floor by his feet. It was surrounded by several other articles of clothing and take-out food containers. In his peripheral vision he could see Arthur cringe.

"I….I did clean…" Alfred mumbled under his breath.

The older nation had to admit, at least it was somewhat presentable. Arthur knew he had no right to complain.

"Well you know," Alfred said a little louder now, his voice brimming with confidence, "I'm a hero now, I clean up whenever I want." It didn't sound as convincing as he wished it would.

Striding past, Arthur completely ignored whatever Alfred was going on about. He really didn't bleeding care about his reason for not cleaning. He probably shouldn't even have brought it up. What he did care about though, was how hard his temples were pulsating. It was _ridiculous_. Arthur didn't feel up to dealing with Alfred—who by now was ranting, mostly to himself, why he had the obligation to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted (of course with a ridiculous hamburger in hand that only God knows where it came from).

He was stopped by a tug on his sleeve.

"Arthur, you don't look so good. You okay?"

His heart was stopped by a worried stare.

Alfred could swear, even if it was only for a moment, that he saw the blood rush to Arthur Kirkland's face.

An incoherent mumble was all Alfred received as a reply. It only made him tug Arthur's sleeve harder. "Arthur, you look terrible."

_Of course I look terrible. I haven't slept in weeks knowing this day was coming, I haven't had my tea, and I have to stand here. In front of you. With that stupid look in your eyes. Your beautiful…blue eyes…Damn it all to bloody hell._ Arthur frowned, rubbing his head.

"I just need sleep."

The corners of Alfred's pale pink lips were pulled down. _Beautiful, soft lips_, Arthur had noted.

"It's still early in the afternoon," he said. "What do take naps now?"

"Yes. And I'm very fond of them, thank you very much," was all Arthur said in reply as he stormed into Alfred's guest room.

Arthur still didn't understand why he wasn't in his own bed, in his own house, or in his own country. Well, of course he did, but he wouldn't acknowledge it even if they massacred every last one of his precious unicorns. Arthur shuddered. Okay, maybe he would. But he would never say it out loud; he had missed Alfred.

He missed everything about him.

The way his golden hair would shine even in the darkest of nights, his intense blue eyes that caused shivers to roll down his spine, that cheeky grin that made Arthur's face burn from embarrassment and that voice. That voice that made Arthur smile whenever he heard it. But when the two nations had separated after that dreadful war, Arthur noted that just the absence of Alfred's voice made him feel even more alone.

Arthur rolled over, and sleep began to overcome him.

Even though he was in the same house as this man, he had never felt so distant.

That night, Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland both dreamt of young and simpler times.


	3. Against All Odds

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly.

* * *

Alfred had to admit—Arthur Kirkland was _beautiful_ while sleeping. Well, it wasn't like he wasn't beautiful out of sleep, but it was at times like these that Alfred was able to actually appreciate it, without getting hit or yelled at of course.

The younger nation watched quietly in the guest room's doorway—which Arthur had forgotten to lock—probably to _tired_ to remember to.

Arthur's chest would rise and fall, then he would turn over slightly to mumble something incoherent through those soft lips. Alfred would shiver at the sound of the other's voice, and smile. The gentle, peaceful look on the older nation's face was something Alfred hadn't seen in a very long time.

His heart was stabbed repeatedly by memories.

----

"Iggy, Iggy, please don't leave! You barely just got here!" a young voice choked through tears. It was Alfred. Or, at least the younger form of him, when he was barely a colony.

Tearful blue eyes met green.

The man faltered.

"Alfred, I," Arthur began, not sure what to say as he kneeled down to look the child in the eyes. "I _have_ to go. I have a duty. I cannot stay here forever."

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you mad._

Alfred glared at the ground, his small hands balled into fists. It wasn't fair.

_Don't go. Don't leave me alone again. I couldn't stand it._

He had so many things to say to Arthur. And even if he had said them, he would never be taken seriously in his eyes. He was merely a child to him. That's all he would ever be.

_I can't handle living without you somewhere in my life. I love you. More than anything. More than anyone._

Tears began to pour down Alfred's tender cheeks like waterfalls. It was amazing how Arthur knew him better than anyone, yet still couldn't understand the pain he was going through,

_I love you_.

Small arms wrapped tightly around Arthur's neck. Alfred could feel Arthur hesitate before returning the embrace.

"Alf—"

"Just wait, Arthur," Alfred smiled through his tears. "When I get older, you'll 'want' to stay with me forever. I promise."

----

By this time, Alfred hadn't noticed that Arthur was awake, changed into fresh clothes and was now standing in front of him.

When the memory had faded, he glanced down to find green eyes glaring up at him.

"What the _bloody hell_ do you think you're doing?" Arthur spat bitterly at the younger nation.

_Oh. I must've dazed out_. "Nothing, I was just…just going to wake you up so we could get some breakfast, or something…"

"So you decided—instead of actually waking me up—to stand in my doorway, waiting?"

Alfred only stared down at him in silence. His mind was still replaying that memory in his head over and over. Arthur continued to drone on about how much of an idiot he was so Alfred didn't say anything. All he could see was the younger Arthur. The Arthur that _wouldn't_ mind waking up to find him at his doorway. The Arthur that would _happily_ comply with whatever Alfred wanted to do. The Arthur that would hold him _tightly_ in his arms. The Arthur that _loved_ him.

"See! You're not even listening to me at all! Bollocks to this, I—"

Before even having the chance to continue on, Alfred grabbed a hold of Arthur's chin and firmly covered his mouth with his own.

Alfred smiled against the other's lips.

"Are you gonna shut up now so we can get somethin' to eat?" Alfred asked with a smirk, pulling away from Arthur's now bright beet red face.

I'm older now. I promised to you, I'd make you want to stay with me forever.

And that's a promise I intend to keep.


	4. You and I Both

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly.

* * *

Arthur was _not_ a happy camper.

"Arthur, do you wanna—"

"No."

"Arthur, we should—"

"No."

"Arthur—"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Alfred whined, finally able to finish his sentence.

"What in God's name do you want then?" Arthur asked with a scowl.

Our hero hesitated. Arthur could be incredibly scary sometimes. But even so, Arthur made this journey to visit him. That was the whole fucking reason he was here, wasn't it? By the way things were going, he wasn't quite sure anymore.

"Arthur…if you hate me as much as you say, then _why_ are you still here?"

It was at this that the British man was at a loss for words.

"I…well…I, uhm, I—"

The younger nation only shook his head.

"You don't hafta stay here on my part," Alfred began as he took a seat by the window, watching the bustling streets below. "'S okay if you wanna go away."

The golden haired man smiled. It was a smile _so_ gut wrenchingly painful to see.

Arthur opened his mouth to retort with some snarky comment, but nothing would come out. So instead, if he sat in his chair, staring at his hands; he might as well listen.

"I actually jus' got this new house telephone wired in here, so if ya can't get a hold 'a my cell you can always call here." Alfred said enthusiastically to lift up the dark cloud that was suffocating them both. "You could call me sometimes, _maybe_. I know you're always busy, but jus' the thought that you could call whenever you wanted to, it's _calming_."

_No_.

"I know when ya spend too much time around me you start 'ta get really angry. It's not like the ol' days. We're not so li'l anymore." Alfred breathed out a sigh through his smile while memories began to eat away at his sanity. But, _of course_, he would maintain his composure.

_No. No, no. no. I don't want to leave. I just got here, don't make me leave. You don't know how much it took out of my just to agree to come here_.

The younger nation kept his smile plastered on and continued, 'I'll call you a cab an' pack your things together. I'm so sorry you had to come all the way out here for nothin'."

_Please! Don't do this to me! I swear to God, if your push me out this door I'll never find the courage to come back again! Don't make me go…please…_

Arthur's entire body was trembling. He could feel the ground underneath him start to move. If the dining table hadn't been right there beside him he was pretty damn sure his legs would've given out.

_Why can't I speak? Damnit, don't make me go… What a wonderful time to run out of things to say…_

The last thing Arthur remembered before getting into that bleeding taxi cab was the phony smile Alfred was wearing and the hurt look in those beautiful eyes before he shut the door.

"_Fuck_," was the only word that escaped through Arthur's lips that day.


	5. Hear Me Out: Arthur

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly.

* * *

It had been only _one_ damned week and Arthur's life had now become a routine. A _pitiful, pitiful_ routine.

He would wake up, slap his alarm clock, take a shower and brush his teeth, groggily make something (terrible) to eat, watch soaps on the telly, force himself to eat dinner, and climb into bed and lay awake for hours.

But on one particularly slow moving day Arthur's eyes had wandered off the television screen to his cell phone.

_"--jus' the thought that you could call whenever you wanted to, it's calming."_

The elder nation cringed in pain at that harsh memory. But it was true. He could call Alfred this very moment. He could _demand_ him to fly over this instant and apologize. Apologize for what? Well, Arthur would figure out—_or make up_—a reason before he arrived.

At this thought, his hand quickly clawed at the cell phone, flipped it open and dialed the number quickly.** No**.** He bloody did not have Alfred's number memorized.** He had just tried calling before, but every time before the phone would even ring, Arthur would hang it up. He had dignity. He would have his way. He would make sure of it.

_Ring_.

"Come on…"

_Ring. Ring. Riiiiiing_.

"I know you're there, you git."

_Ring. Ring. Ring. Riiiiiing_.

"You have to be bleeding kidding me, I will _murder_ you, you bloody wanker—"

"Hi! This is your hero."

Arthur nearly choked on the scone he had been scarfing down angrily."A-Alfred! Ah, I—"

"Sorry I can't answer the phone right now, I'm probably out savin' the world or eatin'! Leave a message after the beep."

Arthur was about to snap his phone in two. "**Son of a bitch**! An answering machine! A bleeding answering machine!"

_BEEP_.

He could feel his breath get caught in his throat. He hadn't even thought of anything to say yet.

_Bloody hell_.

"H-Hullo, Alfred…" Arthur reluctantly began. "Damnit, why do you even tell me to call you when you won't answer the bloody phone, you twat! I….I really needed to talk to you…"

_I needed to hear your voice. Nobody else's._

"I…I was thinking…maybe we could patch things up. I don't feel like being at home right now, and I sure as hell don't feel like dealing with the rest of the damned world."

_Screw my dignity. I want you to know I miss you. I'm lost and broken without you_.

"Well, if you're not home you're not home. I guess you're just busy. I'll just go pay a visit to Matthew and see how he's doing instead."

_I'm not myself. I need you to fix me_.

"Also," Arthur said shakily, somehow remaining calm through the tears that were pouring down his pale skin. "I _never_ said I hated you. You should know me better than that. I could never _hate_ you, Alfred F. Jones"—Arthur stifled a sob that he had been holding back—"Good bye, _America_."

With that nation slammed his phone shut, shoved it in his pocket and walked out the door of his house.

He had never been so full of contradictions.


	6. Hear Me Out: Alfred

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly.

A/N: This is basically chapter five in Alfred's point of view. :)

* * *

"Alfred, you're late _again_."

The blond man flinched in the doorway of the oval office. He had been caught. Maybe he _wasn't_ as stealthy as he thought he was. Then again, trying to sneak in through the front door wasn't exactly smart in the first place.

"I-I'm sorr—"

"This is the fourth time this week, Alfred F. Jones."

"I…I know," was all the nation would say in reply as he took a seat.

His boss rose from behind his desk with a heavy sigh, picking up the—_now cold_—coffee his attendant had left earlier. He handed a mug to Alfred.

"What's the matter with you lately? You haven't been yourself since last week. It's _scaring_ me." The president said with a slight laugh to lighten the mood.

_I know I'm not myself. I've forgotten how to act normal._

Alfred's eyes were fixated on the coffee in his hands. This would be his **seventh** cup since he had woken up. He had lost himself in countless coffee rings already.

"I'm fine," he lied with a smile as if he was reading off cue cards. "Jus' a li'l bit under the weather."  
_Who am I kidding? I'm a slow motion accident. A wreck. Broken. Useless_.

"Look," the president spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. "I'm not stupid, Jones. Whatever's wrong with you, you need to fix it. It can't get in the way of your duty.

_What kind of hero am I? I can't even concentrate on my own job_.

"You need to get your mind cleared, kid."

Alfred slowly lifted his head, only to be met with his boss's stern eyes.

"That's an order."

It was even more uncomfortable being in his own house. The fact that Arthur had just been there a week before didn't make it _any_ better.

_Why am I so worked up over something like this? I told him to go home. I told him to leave me. _

Alfred shed his coat and tossed his glasses carelessly before collapsing on the sofa.

_He's not coming back this time. _

"Will you return?"

Arthur smiled, making Alfred's world glow.

"Of course I will."

_It was going to be a long day_, the young nation thought to himself hopelessly as he slumped his head against the arm of the sofa.

"Maybe Jerry Springer is on, or something." He mumbled to himself. "_Somebody's_ life has to be worse than mine right now."

Reaching over the to the coffee table, Alfred clawed blindly for the television remote, but his cell phone ended up in his hand instead.

"Oh, I _thought_ I had forgotten something today."

Musing, Alfred flipped his phone open to stare at the screen wide-eyed.

June 17, 2009 -- 1 missed call

Arthur ):

June 17, 2009 -- 1 new voicemail

Alfred pinched himself.

"Ow!"

He _wasn't_ dreaming.

With bated breath, the blond quickly called his voicemail.

It didn't take long before tears began to fall.

He had never been so full of contradictions.

"F-Fuck, Arthur! Damnit it all to hell."

But today, he decided, he was going to toss those contradictions out the window. Love was on the line and he wasn't going to give it up so easily. He was a _hero_. He had someone to protect.

With that, Alfred F. Jones dashed out his door and didn't look back.


	7. He Will Be Loved

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly.

The end. :)

* * *

"What am I doing? I don't even know if he'll be here…"

An American man muttered to himself angrily as he knocked on the front door of his brother's house.

Silence.

Again the blond knocked on the door—well, this time around it was more like punching—and tapped his foot, cursing under his breath.

"I swear, Matt, I will fuckin' kill you with my own hands if you don't answer the goddamn door—"

"H-Hey Alfred…"

The man sighed in relief.

Thank God. He was home. Now he didn't have to waste valuable time murdering him.

"Matt, is Arthur here? Did he call ya? Is he on his way over?"

The brother only gave a confused stare. Maybe he had forgotten?

"I-I haven't seen or talked to Arthur in a few days…is there something wrong?" Matthew asked hesitantly. He had never seen his brother so worked up before.

Alfred only shook his head.

_He must still be home then…_

"Thanks anyways, Matt. See ya!" He shouted as he rushed down the street and back to his car.

"Fuck. Arthur you better be at home."

-----

_What am I doing here?_

A short Englishman gazed up at the house he had been in a week before. He had flown all the way over here to see Matthew. But old habits took place and he found himself on this porch instead. He wanted to go inside. He wanted to see Alfred. But for all he knew, that idiot was probably out somewhere by now.

Arthur stood frozen on the front porch as it began to drizzle lightly.

_"My door's always open," Alfred beamed—using that cheeky smile that Arthur loved. "You can come anytime ya want."_

He tapped on the window.

No answer.

He knocked on the door.

Again, no answer.

Arthur balled his hands into fists. Of course Alfred wouldn't be here at this time.

"I'm going home…"

----

"Can't this thing go any faster!?" Alfred screamed into the cockpit. "It's a jet for fuck's sake! I should've been there already!"

The pilots both jumped up, obviously frightened by the sudden outburst. Their boss was never like this.

"S-Sir, this is as fast as the plane can go!?

Alfred fumed as he sat back in his seat, his fingers drumming against the arm rest.

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

With a pout, the nation glanced out his window.

It was raining.

After two hours of shouting and yelling at his pilots Alfred finally arrived at the airport, quickly hailing a taxicab.

He squirmed around in the backseat. This was taking way too long for his liking.

"This it, kid?"

Alfred quickly jumped up, throwing some money at the taxi driver. "Thanks!"

As the cab drove off happily, Alfred sprinted up to the porch and pounded on the door.

No answer.

The rain only came down harder.

"I'll stand on this fuckin' corner in the pouring rain until you come home Arthur Kirkland. I promise."

And wait Alfred Jones did.

----

Jetlag definitely got the better of the older nation.

Arthur waited inside the airport of his hometown, hoping the rain would let up. He didn't want to risk driving in it. He was in no shape to drive at all in the first place.

"I can't believe he wasn't home. Stupid git." He mumbled to himself as he stared up at the dark sky. Apparently the sun didn't want to come out today.

_Might as well drive anyway. There's no chance of it letting up anytime soon._

The ride home felt faster than it should have. Arthur parked his car in the front of his house and turned it off.

He couldn't even find the will to get out of the damned thing.

"I really did it this time," he said in a broken whisper.

As he gripped tighter onto the steering wheel as Alfred flooded his thoughts. It didn't take long before he was holding his head in his hands.

Wiping his tears away sloppily, Arthur peered over at the rearview mirror.

Pasty white skin streaked with tears. Countless bags under his eyes.

"G-God…I'm pathetic," he sobbed as more tears began to stream down.

Suddenly something caught his eye in the mirror. There was…a person? A person standing on the corner behind his car. It looked like a man—an idiot, nonetheless, for standing out in the pouring rain—who was soaking wet, staring at the car wide-eyed.

Fair-haired? Maybe. It was hard to tell with blurry vision.

Glasses? It seemed like that's what they were.

That jacket looked oddly familiar too.

"No…no, I'm getting worked up over nothing. I'm imagining things."

"Arthur!"

Arthur cringed and tears rolled down faster. Now he was just torturing himself.

"Arthur!!"

Why did it have to sound so real? Why did he have to push the only person he had ever loved over the edge?

"**ARTHUR! GODDAMNIT, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!!**"

Arthur turned.

Green eyes met blue.

"Y-You're…real?"

The younger nation answered by pounding on the car's passenger window, obviously real.

Arthur would've laughed if he could.

Unlocking the door, Alfred quickly slipped inside the car.

_Great. Now the bleeding interior's going to get wet._

"Where the fuck were you?!" Alfred growled as he struggled to wipe his glasses clean.

_How long were you waiting outside?_

Arthur just stared at Alfred, still not able to believe he was really there.

"Hello! Earth to Arthur!" Alfred rose his voice, waving a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Why weren't you at home?!"

Arthur finally regained his voice.

"Why weren't you at your house?"

The younger nation went rigid.

"You…you went to my house?" asked a confused Alfred. "I thought you were going to Matthew's!"

Arthur could only shake his head as he wiped his eyes again. "I was going to…but I ended up at your house instead…I guess you could call it force of habit." He grumbled, avoiding eye contact. "It just sort of happened…"

Now Alfred was upset.

"What the hell, Arthur! I've been waitin' out here for four hours in the fuckin' rain!"

_Arthur, you're making it extremely hard to be angry at you right now seeing as how your cheeks are pink, your green eyes watery…beautiful and…are those tears?_

Meeting Alfred's unintentional stare, Arthur squirmed in his seat.

_Stop staring at me…_

"Were you…crying?"

Completely avoiding the question, Arthur frowned. "If you had answered your phone in the beginning none of this would have happened."

Arthur peeked over at the other man whose expression had now softened into a smile.

"Were you crying, Arthur?"

It was said so gently it caused shivers to roll down Arthur's spine.

"Of course not! A-Are you mad?!"

_Isn't it obvious enough that I was crying?_

"Wh-What would I be crying over in the first place?! If you weren't home, you weren't home! Who bleeding cares?"

_Arthur, stop lying to me. It's okay._

"I sure as hell do not care! And anyways, I was in the rain—of course my face is wet!"

_Why do I say these things when I know I don't mean them?_

"I was not crying!"

_Arthur, you don't have to pretend you don't care. Nobody else is around._

"Arthur."

"What do you want?" He huffed, making a sour face.

"Shut up," Alfred ordered, taking Arthur's face in his hands before crushing their lips together.

Before Arthur even had the chance to fight it, his lust gave in and he melted into the kiss. Alfred simply wrapped his arms around his waist, almost casually, and pulled Arthur tightly against his chest. This made the older nation almost whimper. Alfred, seeing the advantage, snaked his tongue through Arthur's slightly parted lips. Arthur shuddered.

"…You're soaking wet," he managed to gasp out between kisses. His hair was now matted to his forehead, click with the water from Alfred's hair.

Alfred grunted. "I know," and leaned back in for another kiss. For awhile there was no struggle, no hesitation. That is, until Arthur firmly pushed Alfred away. Crying.

"W-What's the matter now?" Alfred frowned, keeping a grip on Arthur who was now blubbering.

"I-I can't do this! I feel bloody terrible! Y-You're acting as if nothing ever happened! How can you forgive me and j-just kiss me this way?"

Alfred smiled at this.

"I knew you could be insecure sometimes, but this is just ridiculous Iggy," he laughed.

Arthur continued to cry and shout at Alfred incoherently.

It was cute for a moment, until it started to get on Alfred's nerves.

Before he knew it, he had grabbed Arthur by the shoulders and was shaking him. "D-Damn it to hell, will you—will you let me speak?!"  
More incoherent shouting.

"Listen to me, I want you to,"—now Arthur was pushing Alfred away and punching his chest—", fucking shit, listen to me! I want you to close your eyes."

Arthur only gave a questioning look.

"Just close your eyes," Alfred mumbled bitterly as he grabbed a hold of Arthur's hands.

_Wow. I don't remember Arthur's hands being this small before._

"What's the bloody poi—"

"Shush, will you? Just do this for me, 'kay? Now…when you open your eyes, I want you to see me as an adult,"—Arthur's body went stiff at this sentence—", because that's what I am."

Arthur loosened his grip on Alfred's hand. He didn't know if he was ready to acknowledge something this big.

_"Iggy, I love you!"_

_"Iggy, it's…erm, delicious!"_

_"Iggy, Iggy, you'll come back, right?"_

_"Arthur, I want independence."_

_"Arthur, I'm not a kid."_

_"Arthur, your food is terrible."_

_"Arthur, you're stupid."_

_"Arthur, I'm a hero."_

He was already in tears.

"Arthur Kirkland," Alfred breathed out as he gave his hands both a gentle squeeze and smiled. "I love you. And I'll never stop."

The green eyed nation opened his eyes to stare at the boy—no, man, before him.

And he smiled.

"I love you too, Alfred. I always have."


End file.
